by Siegel, Alex
"How do you want to do this?" Dan said.
Andrew couldn't miss the deference in the agent's voice. Their relationship had changed over the last few months. Dan no longer treated Andrew and Charley like harmless kids.
"Let's check out the seam first," Andrew said. "Then we'll talk to the agents."
Dan parked in front of the building. Everybody put on their coats and stepped out into winter air. Nebraska was freezing cold, but at least it was a dry cold. In Chicago, the damp chill always found a way through the thickest clothing.
Tungsten took the lead, but instead of going to the front door, he went to a window and peered inside.
"What are you doing?" Andrew said. "Why not just go in?"
"The enemy was here. He might've booby-trapped the door."
"Oh. Good thinking."
"A lesson learned on the battlefield," Tungsten said.
He smashed the window with his gun and pushed out all the glass. Then he climbed through the hole with tremendous agility for a big man. Black leather gloves protected his hands.
After a minute, he yelled from inside the building, "Looks safe!"
He opened the door, and everybody else entered.
The smell of rotting food made Andrew wrinkle his nose. The odor was clearly coming from a garbage can with a cloud of flies buzzing around it.
The interior was a warehouse full of automotive parts. They filled long shelves which ran the length of the building.
Andrew looked through a glass door into an office on the right. He saw a space heater and two mattresses on the floor. Piles of water bottles, soda, and junk food were on a table. Garbage was heaped in the corners.
"They were living here for a while," Andrew said.
"Like a couple of pigs," Charley responded in a tone of disgust.
He walked to the seam in the center of the warehouse. Two chairs placed underneath faced each other. Some discarded rope was lying to the side, and he guessed it had been used to bind Phillip during the spell. One of the chairs had brown stains Andrew refused to speculate about.
"Where are the BPI agents?" he said.
"In a separate building," Dan said. "The surveillance control center is at a safe distance from the seam." He pointed to a security camera mounted high in a corner. "There is less risk of mind-control. Obviously, the precaution didn't help this time."
"Do you guys have a separate control center at Theosophical University?"
"Of course."
"Where?" Andrew said.
"I'm not telling you," Dan said.
Andrew decided not to mention he could take the information from Dan's mind.
"Bring all the agents here," Charley said. "Andrew and I will try to undo whatever damage Blake did, but we need the seam."
Dan took out his phone and made the arrangements. A few minutes later, a large group of BPI agents gathered in the parking lot. Seven of them were shackled together like a prison chain gang, and their hands were bound behind their backs. Clearly, they were the ones suspected of being mind-control victims. Ten other agents were guarding the prisoners.
A woman in a blue parka came up to Andrew. "You're sorcerers?" she said in an incredulous tone.
He nodded. "And you are?"
"Agent Ulsh. I'm in charge of the Denver office. You're awfully young to be part of this kind of investigation. I was expecting headquarters to send one of the master sorcerers."
"We have special training. I'm Andrew, and this is Charley. Let's get everybody inside, and we'll see what we can do to help."
The large group headed towards the door, but the agents wearing the shackles balked. They absolutely refused to enter Tad's Truck Parts. The other agents tried to drag them inside, but the mind-control victims fought back as best they could. They kicked and screamed as if they were being taken to a torture chamber.
"What's wrong with them?" Ulsh said.
"Blake must've commanded them to stay out," Andrew said. "The idea of violating that order terrifies them. Mind-control is based on fear."
After a discussion, Ulsh ordered one prisoner be detached from the rest. Six men carried the chosen prisoner into the warehouse despite frantic struggles and desperate pleas for mercy.
He was brought to the seam. Andrew and Charley immediately jumped into the victim's mind and discovered he believed he was drowning. The agent was trapped in a delusion where he was deep in the ocean with no air supply.
Andrew took control. He used powerful images of clocks and geometric shapes to force the agent to become rational again. It took just a couple of minutes to reverse Blake's spell.
Andrew and Charley opened their eyes. The agent had stopped screaming and struggling, but he wasn't doing anything else either. He just stared ahead with a slack jaw.
"What's wrong with him?" Ulsh said.
"Nothing," Andrew said. "I healed his mind."
"He looks like he had a lobotomy."
"Andrew was a little rough with him," Charley said.
Andrew turned to her. "That's not true. I was just efficient."
"You hammered out the kinks in his mind like you were fixing a dent in a car."
He faced the agent and frowned. Except for a tear dripping down his cheek, the man was showing few signs of life.
"Maybe I should go back in," Andrew said.
"No," Charley said. "You've done enough to that poor man. I think he'll be OK in a day or two. The good news is the mind-control is definitely gone. Let's just move on to the others, and be more careful."
A second agent in shackles was brought in. Andrew and Charley went into his mind.
Andrew found himself inside a burning house. Roaring flames produced suffocating smoke and searing heat. The fire was licking his skin, but he blocked out the pain and maintained total focus. It was all a delusion. Tonya had put him through nastier scenarios during his training.
Charley was standing next to him. Her clothes were on fire, but she didn't seem bothered by it.
"You're the expert all of a sudden," Andrew said. "How should I do this?"
"Just be patient. Let him do half the work."
"I'll give it a shot."
Andrew heard a man screaming for help. Andrew followed the sound and found the agent in a small room in the center of the house. He was completely surrounded by flames. Andrew simply walked through the wall of fire even though it charred his skin.
"I'll get you out of this," Andrew said. "What's your name?"
"Larry!" the agent yelled. "Call the fire department!"
Larry was a thin, African-American man. His clothing was a blackened mess, and countless burn wounds marked his skin.
"There's no need for that. You're very afraid of fire. Why?"
"I almost died in a house fire when I was a kid."
Andrew nodded. "But you survived. It's time to let go of the fear. Walk out of this house with me."
"I can't! I'll be killed!"
Andrew stuck his arm into the flames. He tweaked the delusion a little and changed his skin to stone. The fire didn't harm him.
"How did you do that?" Larry said.
"This is just a dream. You can change it."
"Then I want my dream to have a fire truck!"
Andrew made another adjustment, and a siren wailed in the distance. Larry widened his eyes.
"That was easy," Andrew said. "You're not a sorcerer like me, but you can control your own mind. You can choose what to believe. Walk with me."
He stretched out his hand, and Larry grabbed it.
"Now don't let go," Andrew said. "You'll feel pain but only because you believe there is fire. It's not real. You're actually in Tad's Truck Parts, and it's freezing cold."
Larry hesitated, but with a little more encouragement, he allowed Andrew to lead him into the flames.
"It burns!" Larry cried.
"Stay calm. The further you go, the freer you'll be, and the less it will hurt. You're in control."
One small step at a time, Larry walked
out of the burning house. The delusion gradually became less frightening, and the details blurred. When they stepped on the green lawn outside, everybody woke up.
Andrew was in Tad's Truck Parts again, and even though the air stank of rotten food, he was glad to be back.
Charley wrapped her arms around him and gave him a kiss on the lips. "That was much better! You don't always have to hurt people. You can be gentle and respectful if you try."
He grinned and looked over at Larry. The agent was alert, and tears were running down his cheeks.
"Thank you," he said. "I'm in your debt forever."
"Just doing my job," Andrew said, bursting with pride.
He and Charley worked through the rest of the mind-control victims. Once their minds were clean, they were freed from their shackles.
The agents went on to give their report. Their description of Blake's attack made it clear why he was such a dangerous adversary. He had taken control of the entire BPI team with little apparent effort. He could've made them do anything he had wanted. They were lucky to still be alive.
Only two agents had seen Phillip, but the boy had clearly been under Blake's control. Andrew felt terrible for Phillip. He had done nothing wrong, yet fate had dealt him a very ugly hand. Blake would turn Phillip into a monster, and in the end, he would probably have to die.
None of the agents had any idea where Blake had gone, and Andrew doubted he had left any clues behind. Blake was too smart for that.
When the reports were done, Andrew, Charley, Dan, and Tungsten stepped aside to have a private conversation.
"What do we do now?" Andrew said.
"Might as well fly back to Washington," Dan said. "Seems like we're done here. These agents can handle the crime scene analysis."
"There is nothing for us in Washington either."
"Then we can wait for the next lead."
"What if there is no next lead?" Andrew said.
"Blake isn't perfect. He'll make a mistake eventually."
"He already has," Tungsten said.
Andrew looked at the big man. "Oh?"
"Abducting Phillip was a reckless move. A smart man would lay low, or better yet, leave the country. With his abilities, he could find allies anywhere in the world."
Charley narrowed her eyes. "Blake is a smart man. He must have a good reason for staying in the United States. He must really need the extra power Phillip will give him. He has a plan."
"What kind of plan?" Andrew said.
"I have no idea, but I'm sure we won't like it. Let's go back to Washington. Dan is right. All we can do is be ready to move and hope for a lucky break."
* * *
Blake stood in front of a white church. A classic steeple rose high in the air, and the windows had frames shaped like crosses. Trees were growing behind the church, and the forest continued up the side of a steep hill. Cars filled a gravel parking lot.
"Ready?" Blake said.
He looked down at Phillip. The boy was wearing a gray suit which matched Blake's perfectly. Phillip had even tried to part his brown hair the same way. He couldn't help but emulate Blake because they shared a mind.
"Yes," Phillip said assertively.
They entered the church and hung up their coats. The wooden pews were only half-full, but the entire congregation was sitting up straight and watching the preacher. He was a middle-aged man wearing a black suit and a white tie.
"Hell is a place of truth!" he bellowed. "It is where the true nature of the human condition is exposed. Unbelievers do not view themselves as rebels against God, yet that is what they are! In Hell, there is no escape from the price of sin...."
Blake hadn't come for the sermon. He surveyed the audience and spotted a man with wavy hair and a thick, brown mustache. Blake recognized the man from pictures on the internet, and his name was Gary Dean.
"I see him," Blake murmured.
He and Phillip quietly sat near the back of the church.
The sermon continued for a while. Blake tried to appear interested for the sake of his cover story, but the truth was he couldn't care less. He understood the power of belief very well, but he also knew how easily it could be tricked. He didn't trust any form of organized religion. Ancient tradition and history didn't necessarily make something correct.
The service finally ended, and the congregation filed out. Blake stood up at the exact moment when Dean walked past.
"Mr. Dean," Blake said softly. "I was hoping I'd find you here. If you don't mind, I'd like to talk to you."
Dean stopped and stared at Blake. Other people walked around the obstruction to reach the exit.
Dean had a charismatic face, but he was many years past his prime. He was tall, fit, and handsomely dressed in a black suit.
A woman was with him, and Blake guessed she was his wife. She had curly blonde hair, but Blake saw gray roots beneath. Her face and body were slightly plump, and a tight pink dress didn't hide that fact. Gaudy pearl earrings struck him as inappropriate for a religious service.
"Do I know you?" Dean said.
"No," Blake said. "I'm Mr. Herman Beltz, and this is my grandson."
Phillip shook Dean's hand. "Nice to meet you."
"What do you want?" Dean said suspiciously.
"I came across an article about you on the internet the other day. You immediately struck me as a man I needed to meet. We are of similar... persuasions."
The crowd had mostly left the church, so the two men had a little privacy. Dean's wife frowned and glanced towards the door.
"What do you mean?" Dean said.
Blake leaned forward and whispered, "We both want to kill sorcerers."
Dean's eyes widened. "Where did you read that?"
"It's true, isn't it? I saw a video of one of your rants. The language was quite explicit. I've had my own unpleasant dealings with sorcerers. They killed my grandson's parents."
Dean looked down at Phillip. The boy nodded with a sad expression on his face.
"Let's talk outside," Dean said.
The four of them left the church, grabbing coats from a rack on the way out. It was a chilly winter day in the hilly countryside of West Virginia. A fitful breeze was blowing to the east. They found a spot beside the church where nobody would overhear them.
"You have my attention," Dean said, "but I still don't know what you want from me."
"You're the head of a group called the White Guerrillas," Blake said quietly, "which is dedicated to eradicating sorcery. I'd like to join your cause. Furthermore, I have valuable intelligence for you. I know the location of a hotbed of sorcery. The most powerful sorcerers in the country live there. I'll tell you exactly where it is and how to destroy the place. It's too big an operation for me to handle alone, but together, we can do it."
Blake didn't need to use mind-control this time. Dean's eyes were already lighting up with eagerness.
"Why did you meet me here at church?" Dean said. "You could've come to my house or office."
"Those places might be under surveillance. Sorcerers control the federal government, and the government knows you hate sorcerers. It's not a stretch to expect they're watching you."
Dean blanched.
"I want to meet your Guerrillas," Blake said, "but it has to be at a safe location, someplace that can't be bugged. When you tell your people where to go, do it in person. Every time you use a phone, a federal agent is listening, and the internet isn't safe either. From now on, all communication must be face-to-face."
"That sounds very smart." Dean nodded.
"Now where do you want to meet?"
Dean thought for a long moment.
"On the roof of Dean's Department Store," he said finally. "It's open and flat. Nobody will be able to spy on us."
"That's a great idea. I assume you own the building."
"Yes. We'll meet at nine after the store is closed. When you arrive, tell security you're with me, and they'll show you the way."
"Got it." Blake smiled. "I'll see y
ou there."
Dean and his wife walked off.
"Too easy," Phillip murmured.
"It helps to be dealing with a moron," Blake replied.
* * *
Blake and Phillip walked up to Dean's Department Store. The building was three stories tall and very broad. Orange concrete walls had almost no windows. A huge parking lot surrounded the store, but only a handful of cars were parked in the lot.
The store was one of the largest buildings in Charleston, West Virginia. Gary Dean was a wealthy man.
Blake glanced backwards. He had arrived in a black sedan which was parked in the far corner of the lot. Two men were seated in front, but Blake couldn't see them in the darkness. They were members of his team of assassins. He had considered bringing the men with him, but doing so might arouse suspicion. Blake had the Russian Eye with him anyway. If the situation got rough, he could always resort to mind-control.
Blake checked his watch. "Nine o'clock on the dot."
He and Phillip went to the glass front door of the department store. Blake tried the handle, but the door was locked. He knocked loudly.
After a moment, a security guard in a bright blue uniform opened the door.
"We're here for a meeting with Mr. Dean," Blake said. "It's supposed to be on the roof."
"This way, sir," the guard said.
He led Blake and Phillip through the darkened building. Only every fourth light was turned on. The store had furniture, clothing, household goods, and so on. Blake tried to remember the last time he had shopped in a traditional department store and failed.
The guard took Blake and Phillip to a stairwell in the back.
"Go all the way up," the guard said. "The roof is unlocked."
"Thanks." Blake smiled.
He and Phillip climbed up three flights of stairs and emerged onto the roof. After being inside the warm building, the winter breeze felt especially chilly.
Blake waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. There were no lights at all, and no moon hung in the night sky. It was very quiet.
"Spooky," Phillip said.
Hulking mechanical equipment just looked like abstract black shapes. Blake took Phillip's small hand and walked forward cautiously. Fortunately, the roof was clean and flat.
